


catch me if i fall

by oneirataxxia



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, POV Alternating, Slightly Ambiguous/Open Ending, Unrequited Love, liberal use of imagery, training camp arc and beyond (slight time skip)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24514192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneirataxxia/pseuds/oneirataxxia
Summary: Ah, here he is again. Why did he let this happen?The paper cup falls from his grasp with a soft thud on the summer green grass. The sultry breeze cards its fingers through his hair, sun beating mercilessly on his back, the humid, sticky air pressing in on him, wrapping around his neck, constricting his airstream as the shadows fall between him and the boy he loves.Yamaguchi Tadashi stands all alone, pinned beneath the wrath of the sky while Nekoma’s captain kisses his best friend.The sun is violent on his unshed tears.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Tsukishima Kei, unrequited!Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou, unrequited!Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 46
Kudos: 163





	1. yamaguchi tadashi: inelegantly, as the cherry blossoms wither

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! this is my first work in the haikyuu!! fandom, and i'm totally not nervous at all (*sweats*). i'm relatively new to the fandom, so i don't really have any friends, so, please, uh, be my friend? i'm kind of nice sometimes, i promise! subsequently, i don't have a beta reader, so i'm sorry if this is flaming garbage. i'm a little rusty because i haven't written anything in literal YEARS, so, uh, please enjoy?
> 
> p.s. no shipping wars in the comments! i don't want this look like something you'd find under the bnha tag!
> 
> [chapter warning(s): adult language]

Ah, here he is again. Why did he let this happen? 

The paper cup falls from his grasp with a soft thud on the summer green grass. The sultry breeze cards its fingers through his hair, sun beating mercilessly on his back, the humid, sticky air pressing in on him, wrapping around his neck, constricting his airstream as the shadows fall between him and the boy he loves.

Yamaguchi Tadashi stands all alone, pinned beneath the wrath of the sky while Nekoma’s captain kisses his best friend.

The sun is violent on his unshed tears. 

Running, running. Running away, like he always does. His mind whirls and pirouettes, flashes of white-hot and fragments of cloud racing across his field of vision, legs burning as he forces his way across the field, grass twining around his feet, pulling him down, down, where he belongs.

He will never win. 

Soft thuds sound behind him.

“Ah, Y-Yamaguchi-kun!”

Tadashi turns, quickly swiping an arm across his eyes. He gives a watery smile to Yachi Hitoka, who trembles behind him, blond ponytail dancing in the summer breeze as she huffs for breath.

“I-Is everything o-okay?” she stammers, wringing her hands along the bottom of her shirt.

“Of course, Yacchan!” Tadashi smiles, closing his eyes, drawing the shutters shut on his soul. No one is allowed, not anymore.

“I-I just saw you running and, um, you looked... ah! Nevermind, aha!” She grimaces, and with a flourish, turns her back on him to cover her face with her hands.

“No need to worry,” Tadashi says gently, smiling.

Hitoka peers over her shoulder at him, somewhat suspicious, and lets her arms fall to her sides. 

“Come back with me?”

An invitation. Sure, Hitoka is cute. He’s known her for a couple of months, and they get along pretty well. But she is not Tsukishima Kei.

Blonde hair, brown eyes, but she is not the same.

“Ah, sorry, Yacchan, but…” 

Tadashi bites his lip. He doesn’t know what to say. Leave me alone so I can cry about Tsukki? Leave me alone so I can continue feeling pathetic about myself in peace? He can’t say that. He can’t say that to anyone.

“Ah, it’s okay!” she squeaks. “I’m sorry, you probably want to be left alone! Ugh, I’m being annoying—okay, I’m sorry, bye!”

She dashes off, summer air swirling through the folds of her skirt.

Tadashi is quiet. 

He almost regrets letting her go.

He closes his eyes, and all he can see is Kei. Blonde hair, fine as silk; brown eyes, so pale they are gold. Tall and lean, fair skin and high, regal cheekbones. No wonder he caught the eye of Tetsurou Kuroo. 

  
  


June, primary school.

He was pushed to the hot, dusty ground of the playground. Grit scraped the tender flesh of his palms, and he breathed in the scent of sunbleached rubber and white sunshine, perfumy flowers and green leaves. The buzz of cicadas murmured through the sweltery air, his bullies blurs in the heat as they loomed over him.

His ugly freckles were the source of his misery. His tormentors kicked and laughed at him, pointing stubby fingers, taunting as primary schoolers did. Through a crack in their bodies, Kei had been there to save him then, a mirage of an oasis in the Sahara.

But now? 

Tadashi has to save himself.

He sways and stumbles, knees hitting the ground, the luscious, dew-dappled grass snaking its way up his legs, his hands, dragging him down as he gives in and slides forward. His face is crushed into its velvety carpet, the scent of pollen and cool earth swirling around his nose.

How pathetic. 

He can’t even deny it now. 

He could be mad. He could let his blood boil and ears steam and stomp and huff and scream and cry and point fingers but he can’t bring himself to do that, can’t bring himself to yell when he knows it’s his fault, his fault he lost Kei.

He only admired him from a distance, gazing through a telescope at the moon, never plucking up the courage to tell Kei how he felt, sitting in his shadowed room while sunlight fell in sheets through the swollen gray storm clouds out his window, Kei perched on the sill.

_ I love you, Tsukki. _

Four words. Tadashi could have been the first one in the Kei’s life to say those four words to him, four little words, four stupid words his clumsy, foolish brain and lips could never quite syncronise. He is  _ such _ a coward.

He had to suffer through all the girls in middle school, batting their clumpy mascara lashes at Kei as they pushed their way into his personal space, jostling him as they vied for Kei’s attention, not sparing him a second glance with a rustle of uniform and choking, sickly-sweet perfume. 

Maybe he was a little jealous of their courage.

He will always be average, nothing more, nothing less. Not outstanding in any area, whether it's athletics or academics or attractiveness. If his average stats weren’t enough injury to his self-confidence, he feels like patchwork, like nothing in him quite fits or matches; he’s not one complete being like Shouyou or Yuu or Koushi; he’s been fragmented, he feels unstable, and he’s utterly, utterly forgettable.

Brown hair, brown eyes, he blends in like the rest of them. His one distinguishing feature was the source of his torment for six years.

No wonder not even Kei would look at someone like him. Tadashi laughs bitterly into the core of the earth. Slow-churning and patient as always, the earth is silent.

  
  


_ Pathetic. _

The first word Kei had ever said to him. Maybe it wasn’t directed towards him, but if it was, Tadashi will never know, and never wants to know. But sometimes he stays up at night thinking about it.

Fuck, it’s so unfair.

Does the childhood best friend ever win?

It’s always the new, bad boy who swoops in and steals hearts, the childhood friend left to rot in the back.

Late night calls after a long day at school, eyes dry and raw from the lack of sleep and fingers trembling from stress and exhaustion, the ugly yellow light from his desk lamp falling across strewn physics and history homework, literature and calculus pushed to the side to make room for his body, draped across the wooden desk with fatigue.

Kei’s breathing, occasionally punctuated by voice, crackles over the line, quiet, disinterested as always. Tadashi blabbers through the phone, trying to ease the uncomfortable silence, relaying gossip and teasing Kei, bringing up the article on the front page of that morning’s newspaper, talking about a new movie or video game. The sky outside his window was so black not even the streetlamp on the corner of his block could make a dent in it.

Tadashi makes noise into the phone, desperate, reaching, scrabbling for something to hold on, to guide himself through this horrible mess he’s got himself into, tears streaming silently onto his desk as he tries with all his heart to, for once, make his best friend notice him.

He wants to stop being a background character in Kei’s life. He’s invisible to even Kei, how sad.

But he’s not stupid. He knows he never really had a fighting chance; he was never good enough, never important enough for Kei to be able to really love him, and that’s fine, that’s fine, because Kei deserves someone better anyways.

Oh yes, he really deserves Tetsurou. They deserve each other.

  
  


He’d heard about it from Sugawara Koushi. Sidelines, practice match against Nekoma. In this particular rotation, Kei was positioned in the center, sweat sliding down the column of his neck, face flushed with heat and excitement and adrenaline. Tadashi was edging the court, and Koushi had to draw him back with a gentle arm.

“Did you see him?” Tadashi turned to him, breathless. “Did you see Tsukki? He blocked that! That was—that was amazing!”

Although Koushi smiled, his eyes were sad, and they searched Tadashi’s. 

“Do you know?”

“Huh?” Tadashi said, ignorantly. “Know what?”

“That Tsukishima is dating Kuroo.”

And that was the final hairline fracture in Tadashi’s cracked grip of reality, everything shattering, bits and pieces of his childhood, all the memories he’s shared with Kei sparkling like chips of glass beneath the glare of the gym lights as they crumble before him, everything spilling out of him, sloshing over the sides as he pales and shrivels, left to wither and die.

“Ah… yeah…” he lies.

Hiding the fact that Kei can’t even be bothered to tell him he’s got a boyfriend now.

However, Koushi’s eyes are all-seeing.

Tadashi was burned.

  
  


“So, you and Kuroo, huh.”

It wasn’t a question. An accusation. Tadashi leaned against the shelf of lockers in the club room after the game, bag wedged between his shoulder blade and the dull, blue cabinets. Gaping open like a fresh wound, Tadashi’s locker door partially obscured Kei’s face.

The blonde starts and then freezes, face turned towards Tadashi, little bits of guilt hinting the edges of his eyes.

“Ah,” he said.

“You couldn’t even tell me,” Tadashi huffs, half-laughing, half-crying, but so, so horribly in love.

He turns from Kei and flings the locker shut, the resounding bang chasing him from the room, curious faces of not only his own but Nekoma’s team following his flight. Koushi raises a hand over his mouth, eyes squinting as he tries not to choke on the sob Tadashi had let out.

Jealousy is terrible, tearing through him as he desperately tries to piece himself back together, the hot monster wreathing its way through his lungs, scalding his insides as he tries not to vomit in disgust and horror at himself. He hates himself for feeling this way, he knows this day would have come sooner or later, the day Kei finds someone who loves him and leaves Tadashi behind.

Maybe Tadashi, feathers in disarray and legs mangled, has always been trailing behind.

Kei, the one bright light in his life, had finally been snuffed out, and he was stuck, stuck slumped over on the stupid field outside the gym of the training camp, grass tickling his nose as the sun scorched through his uniform, burning his arms and legs and the back of his neck, god, he’s a fool.

A stupid, blind,  _ pathetic _ fool.

He rolls over to his back, shielding his eyes with a forearm, the periwinkle sky peeking through his bangs, devoid of clouds as if they had been burned away by the sun. He stares into the sky and the sky stares back at him, blue and whole and lashing out with scarcely-contained fury.

_ Save me, please, _ he begs, eyes wide and pleading as if he is trying to swallow the sky whole within his irises.

The sky does not answer, churning thousands of feet above his outstretched hand, fingers brushing the sun as he tries not to burn, he’s burned.

  
  


A shadow falls over him.

“Yachi said you were here.”

Tadashi quickly pushes himself up, turning his back to Kei as he dries his eyes on the heels of his palms, hoping he hadn’t seen the tear tracts glistening along his cheeks.

“Ah,” Tadashi says, “sorry, Tsukki.”

Kei says nothing, continuing to overshadow Tadashi, blotting out the sun as light pours around him, lighting his hair up like a halo; with his newly-acquired wings, he’s holy. And Tadashi? Laying on the ground like a dog, crying like a weakling; he’s anything but that.

He’s too mundane to deserve to love someone as ethereal as Kei.

Kei hovers above him for a second more before settling down next to him, and Tadashi is almost starstruck; an angel descending from the heavens. 

“What’s wrong?” Kei says quietly, the  _ nerve _ of him.

“Ah, nothing, Tsukki! I’m just tired,” Tadashi lies. Tiredness is always a good excuse.

He pivots, and his foot crushes a dandelion, its white, feathery seeds exploding beneath his shoe before being swept away by a sharp gust of summer, dancing in the wind as they float away from Tadashi, taunting him, flying free as he is shackled to the earth.

“Fuck,” he curses, pushing himself to a standing position. Kei quickly mirrors his actions.

“Want to go back?” Kei asks, monotone, bored.

He’s tired already of Tadashi.

“You go ahead,” Tadashi replies, his gut churning.

“Coach Ukai wants to see us. Team meeting,” Kei pushes.

Tadashi sighs internally, groaning; he really  _ can _ have nothing in this world, not even an afternoon of peace. The sky leers at him.

He relents.

They trudge through the whispering grass to the gym, wildflowers crushed underfoot.

When they enter the building, Kei peels off from Tadashi’s side to make a beeline to Tetsurou, who is standing to the side with his short, two-toned setter. Tadashi swallows the bile that rises to his throat. What happened to the team meeting?

Tadashi is waved to the side by Shouyou, head peeking from the crook of Tobio’s arm, the tall setter standing over him like a protective barrier, shielding him from the curious eyes of the boys from other teams, protecting what is his. If only Kei would do that for him.

“Coach wants us to meet!” Shouyou smiles from around Tobio. “Where’s Stingyshima?”

“With his boyfriend,” Tadashi mutters, throat constricted. His eyes even start to sting, pathetic, pathetic.

Shouyou rolls his eyes. “He’s  _ always _ with Kuroo-san, when are they going to get enough of each other?”

Tadashi forces a little laugh, trying to push down the concrete building up in his chest, his heart pulsating and struggling in its cement cage, about to burst from stress and sadness and pain.

“But they’re so cute together!” Hinata gushes, sidestepping Tobio to fling himself at Tadashi, overcome with giddiness at Kei’s relationship status. 

Clinging onto Tadashi, he looks up at him with warm, sparkling eyes, so full of laughter and joy that Tadashi just  _ has _ to feel better, even though, like water from a broken tap, the redhead spouts his approval for Kei and Tetsurou.

If only Tadashi could give Kei his blessings as well.

Tobio catches Tadashi’s eye and grimaces in apology. Tadashi smiles sadly in response, knowing Tobio was apologizing in more ways than one.

_ Sorry for Hinata; he’s a dumbass. _

_ It’s okay. _

_ Sorry for Tsukishima. _

  
  


Is it really that obvious? First Koushi, now Tobio. Must be setter’s intuition.

  
  


He slips off the bus, dark, fat clouds brewing in the sky. From his side, Kei glaces up worryingly, a small frown creasing his forehead. Tadashi feels his gut lurch, ground giving beneath him as heat flares in his cheeks.

Kei’s so beautiful his existence is entirely unfair.

They start off towards their houses, reedy wind rattling the skeleton trees of early summer. Tadashi’s footsteps are too loud against the pavement as they walk in complete silence, Kei frantically tapping his phone. Tadashi doesn’t  _ know _ , but he knows who Kei’s texting: who else could make his mouth curve upwards in a soft smile like that? Kei never smiles so gently for him.

Kei’s eyes dart to the side, and Tadashi’s stomach unpleasantly lurches as they make eye contact; he’s been caught staring, stupid, stupid. Tadashi quickly pulls his head to the side, focusing instead at the grass withering by the side of the street, scorched to gray from the relentless beating of the sun.

“Yamaguchi,” Kei says. To anyone else, he may sound neutral, complacent, even. But Tadashi’s fine tuned ears pick up the sound of pleading.

“I’m fine,” he says, stubbornly, and increases his pace, too late, hating himself for doing everything that alerts Kei that he’s  _ not _ fine, not fine at all. Tadashi also hates Kei for knowing him so well.

Kei speeds up with him, hand catching into the crook of Tadashi’s elbow. He shivers at the slender press of Kei’s long fingers into his jacket, the heat radiating from his tall body not far behind. It had been a long time since Kei had stood so close to him.

Tadashi bites his lip and cocks his head to the side, muddy brown eyes staring into pale gold. Kei’s short, blonde eyelashes seem to sparkle in the low light, or maybe that was just the tears building up in Tadashi’s eyes.

Drip, drip. 

A few specks of rain scatter across the road.

Kei pauses, grip tightening on Tadashi. He seems to be struggling, eyes flickering and lips trembling. Tadashi waits patiently, long-suffering for Kei as he always is. With a spike of resentment, he wonders if Tetsurou is this slow for Kei. He wonders how far they’ve gotten in their relationship. It’s been a few months already. He wonders if Tetsurou will be Kei’s first everything.

Finally, Kei seems to collect himself.

“You… don’t have to tell me what’s wrong,” he says slowly, lowly, and Tadashi feels his hummingbird heart leap into his throat.

“I just want… you to be able to rely on me. I’m here for you,” Kei says quietly, eyes boring into Tadashi’s.

Rain patters around them, the scent of the sky steaming quietly from the ground. The skeleton trees bow under the weight of the water, fat droplets rolling and falling from the baby green leaves with gentle smacks on the ground. Flower buds lift their weary wilted heads to greet the drizzle, releasing their aroma in thanks, grateful for the water, the refuge, as the rain becomes torrented.

Tadashi’s eyes release their tears, and he rains along with the clouds, Kei’s lashes fluttering wide, mouth parting, as he stares in awe and confusion at Tadashi. His pale curls turn dark gold as they flatten to his head, streams of water trickling between the graceful curve of his cheek and steamed glasses.

“I love you, Tsukki,” Tadashi sobs, cloudburst whipping around him, the trees moaning and wind sighing, long-fingered mist sliding from the bloated clouds above to greet the sun-cracked earth. His hair mats to his head, black with water, raindrops catching his long lashes, spinning and dripping off as he sobs, his dam broken, white-knuckled clutching his chest as he cries for Kei, cries for his broken heart, cries for his foolishness.

Kei is stone-still, his face frozen as water pours on him. He finally sags, eyes heavy, and Tadashi knows the answer,  _ knows the answer; _ he’s known it for years.

He turns away and  _ runs, _ like the coward he is, will always be, mouth open and sobbing, shattered sounds stumbling from his broken chest, his ribcage cracked in half, heart fallen to his stomach. His sneakers thud across the uneven ground, splashing through puddles, the late cherry blossoms from spring swirling across the surface in response to his footfall as howling and aching, the sky weeps for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy endings are overrated; you can't have everything in life. next chapter: kozume kenma!


	2. kozume kenma: as galaxies fold over my eyes, i weep shooting stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slowly, it crept up on him like a cat stalking its prey. It took years and years for Kenma to realize, but when he did, it took his breath away, eyes flying open as a feeling old and ancient as time itself burrowed in his chest, leaving him open, merciless, to the givings of the universe.  
> As Earth oscillates the sun, as Jupiter’s great red storm slowly dies, as diamond rain falls on Neptune, he is in love.  
> In love with Tetsurou as they laid beneath the stars, the wild and untamed expanse stretching far and high above them, galaxies bursting across the horizon as they chased the sun around the globe, again and again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello! thank you so much for all the support you've given me for chapter one, and now it's time for kenma's part. i don't think i've written it as well as yamaguchi's portion, but i hope you like it nevertheless. i worked hard on it! :)
> 
> once again, i'd like to remind you that shipping wars will not be tolerated in the comments! i hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> [chapter warning(s): adult language]

Kozume Kenma has never deceived himself. At least, not on purpose. He prides himself on his emotional intelligence and self-awareness, on his talent to read others and his natural ability to emphasize deeply. So, he has never, not once, told himself that Tetsurou Kuroo loved him. And he plans to keep it that way.

  
  


He can remember the first time he laid eyes upon Tetsurou. It was the middle of spring, and he was sitting on the edge of the road, poking at the leaflitter and cherry blossom petals that swirled past his feet in the wash of rainwater. His gameboy lays discarded to the side as he, for once, diverts his interest to something else. Kenma, mouth parted, pokes with a stick, as young boys do, at the flora as it dances beneath his bent knees, looking so bright and lively against the gray concrete of the gutter. 

A cool draft carries the scent of young wildflowers, and he sneezes, once, twice, and so softly, every so softly like the sighing breeze, hears a “bless you” from behind.

Kenma blinks up, turns, eyes bleary from his pollen allergy, to see a boy around his age shuffling his feet, slightly abashed, slightly surprised as if he hadn’t realized the words were spoken aloud. 

The boy’s hair was ink black, spiky and bedraggled, falling to obscure one deeply golden eye, rich and sparkling in the patched afternoon light. He looked nervous, unsure, skittish, and Kenma was afraid he would dash off if he quailed too soon beneath Kenma’s cat-like gaze.

“What’s your name?” Kenma asked, blinking, the boy coming into more clarity.

“K-Kuroo,” he mutters, “Tetsurou.”

“Kozume Kenma,” he replies, sweeping a lock of long, dark hair behind his ear.

They study each other for a few seconds before Tetsurou quickly murmurs a “goodbye” and dashing off, feet pattering across pavement so hot heat waves visibly warp the surface. Kenma turns back around, deep in thought. The stick drops with a splash, and Kenma watches the gutter slowly suck it down the rough, asphalt street.

  
  


Slowly, it crept up on him like a cat stalking its prey. It took years and years for Kenma to realize, but when he did, it took his breath away, eyes flying open as a feeling old and ancient as time itself burrowed in his chest, leaving him open, merciless, to the givings of the universe.

As Earth oscillates the sun, as Jupiter’s great red storm slowly dies, as diamond rain falls on Neptune, he is in love.

In love with Tetsurou as they laid beneath the stars, the wild and untamed expanse stretching far and high above them, galaxies bursting across the horizon as they chased the sun around the globe, again and again.

The dewey grass itched his skin, and Kenma sneezed, glaring at Tetsurou as the older boy snickered.

“I can’t help it,” Kenma sighed, reaching for his gameboy.

Tetsurou smacked his arm aside, and Kenma whined, cradling his stinging skin. 

“Stop going for that thing all the time,” Tetsurou complained. “You’re supposed to be hanging out with  _ me, _ not the gameboy.”

Kenma huffed, feeling himself go soft. Tetsurou had changed considerably since that first awkward and skittish encounter, gaining confidence and a little sarcastic bite Kenma had grown fond of.

“Tomorrow’s your first day of secondary school,” Kenma breathed. This would be the first time that they would be separated. Kenma can’t imagine how it’ll turn out. Frankly, he was a little afraid. Tetsurou was his rock, and without him, Kenma was afraid he’d float off to the clouds and freeze in the stratosphere.

“Year six,” Tetsurou drawled. “I bet it’ll be just as easy as year five.”

He spared a sideways glance at Kenma. 

Tetsurou sighed and rolled over, his shoulder pressed against the other boy’s. Kenma gave a slight jerk in response before relaxing into the comforting warmth Tetsurou provided. 

“You’ll be fine, Ken,” Tetsurou sighed. “You’ll make more friends.”

Kenma wished he could be as confident as Tetsurou sounded. 

“Sure,” he said quietly.

Tetsurou hummed in response, not really believing him but not itching to squabble either. Kenma thinks he looks beautiful under the starshine, his golden eyes paled to silver, his black hair reflecting the glint of those burning balls of hydrogen and helium millions of miles away, light thousands of years old as it encompasses him, lighting him up, and Kenma is in love, so, so very painfully in love.

At age twelve, he knew it was going to be either Tetsurou or no one. There would be no in between. 

  
  


“Who is that?”

Tetsurou’s hiss, carrying across the musky, sweat-filled gym air. He was poking at Mokisuke Yaku, who was standing, sweat-drenched and arms crossed, surveying the pack up of Nekoma’s gym. They had just finished a practice match with Karasuno High, who had risen from the dead with a solid block of first years, wings and feathers and talons and all.

“Who?” Morisuke scoffs. “You've got to elaborate. I can’t read your mind.”

Tetsurou blinks, unbelieving, as if Morisuke’s playing with him. Nekoma’s libero may not be able to read his mind, but Kenma has a decent crack at it. His stomach drops, and his fingers freeze, phone trembling in his grasp. Bile begins to pool in his mouth. 

Tetsurou squints. “Number eleven.”

Morisuke pauses for a second, and Kenma can see him retrieving information needed, searching the depths of his mind as Kenma mentally screams no, no, don’t do it, say you don’t know, you don’t know him, please.

“Tsukishima Kei,” Morisuke decides, “first year, middle blocker. I don’t know much about him.”

“He’s cute,” Tetsurou murmurs, and everything finally comes to an aching halt.

Wind is whistling past his ears as he falls from his perch on the tree branch, claws torn from the hardy wood, crows cawing overhead. He falls, tumbles, golden eyes wide and reflecting the sky, fragmented, distant, accepting, because he knew, he knew that he’s no fool, that Tetsurou doesn’t love him anyways. His body thumps to the ground, and the scavengers swoop, black eyes glinting and beady, cruel hooked beaks open and ready to feast on his quivering flesh, heart open and beating, beating, bloody.

“That is a child,” Morisuke chides, Kenma’s phone slipping from his grasp and skittering across his lap to land with a clatter on the floor.

“I want his number,” Tetsurou says mildly, eyes feasting on the tall, blonde middle blocker. 

Kenma’s head starts to pound, and he covers his mouth, afraid he’ll retch up his heart.

_ Fool, _ he chides himself.  _ This is your punishment for falling in love. _

Silently, he watches Tetsurou make his way over to Kei, watched him scribble his number on Kei’s slim arm with a sharpie, claiming him; the messy, bold handwriting he finds so enduring is plastered on another boy, marking him as his territory, and Kenma thinks he’s falling again, falling, falling, but he doesn’t meet the ground.

  
  


“He’s so cute, Ken,” Tetsurou moans, flopping pathetically on Kenma’s bed, looking like a fish out of water. He groans again and covers his face with his hands, and Kenma can see his blushed ears peeking between the wild black locks.

Kenma hums, something to fill the void where he’s expected to reply, and tries to tune him out, sharpening his focus on his game, the game, not Tsukishima Kei and Kuroo Tetsurou.

“I want to ask him out,” Tetsurou bleats for the thousandth time that evening, rolling over on his stomach, fingers brushing Kenma’s shoulder.

Kenma flinches and scoots away, shoulder smoldering from Tetsurou’s innocent touch.

His heart, the traitor, jackhammers against his ribs.

“Ask him out then,” Kenma replies, each word yanked unwillingly from his chest, white-shot swords burning his throat as they force their way past his lips, and at the moment, Kenma kind of wished he was dead.

“But what if he doesn’t like me?” Tetsurou whimpers, “I’ll be humiliated! I’ll never be able to look at him again!”

Kenma sighs and turns off his phone. He can’t focus, not now anyways while his heart’s completely in two. Tetsurou can have a lot of things, but he can’t have Kenma’s place on the leaderboard. He must be able to have  _ some _ things that aren’t tainted by his heartache.

“Let’s go over those texts again,” Kenma says, grudgingly. Going over Tetsurou and Kei’s pitiful and embarrassing attempts at flirting is the last thing he wants to do at the moment, but Tetsurou’s eyes are glittering with relief, and Kenma knows he can’t say no, not when Tetsurou looks like that.

“Look here,” Kenma murmurs, pointing to one of Kei’s texts, “he definitely likes you.”

“How do you know?” Tetsurou questions, skeptical, eyes slits as he surveys Kenma critically.

_ These words of his… I’ve been wanting to tell you them for my entire life. _

“I just know.”

Tetsurou bites his lip, and Kenma involuntarily shudders, feeling his face heat up, eyes tracking the movement. Tetsurou’s hooded eyes catch his own, and they study him, gold flickering from one place on Kenma’s face to another.

Kenma is absolutely silent, his best poker-face on, refusing, refusing to betray any hints of emotion, concealing his broken chest, his despair, and his terrible, terrible knowledge that this would happen all along; some day, Tetsurou would find someone he loves and leave Kenma behind. Tetsurou has never loved him, and never will.

It’s written in the stars.

“I’ll do it,” Tetsurou announces, and Kenma mentally sighs, the golden gaze pried from his face at last, leaving flesh scalded in its wake.

Tetsurou grabs his phone, and he and Kenma spend the next thirty minutes carefully constructing the text, all the while Kenma’s heart bleeds pitifully, dripping, ebbing, as he feels himself slip away from his best friend, the darkness of his bedroom finally claiming him as its own.

  
  


Days pass, and one date turns into two, then three, then twenty, and then suddenly it’s as if Tetsurou is sucked from Kenma’s life and into his own sphere, his own little bubble that consists of Kei, himself, and occasionally, volleyball; for the first time in their entire lives, Tetsurou and Kenma’s paths begin to diverge. Will diverge.

Although Tetsurou still comes over to see him, it’s only once in a while. Kenma wonders when exactly he was demoted from Tetsurou’s favorite person to someone he only hung out with when Kei wasn’t available.

And when he did come over, Tetsurou only talked about Kei. Tsukki this, Tsukki that; Kenma has grown to be absolutely sick of it, sick, sick,  _ sick _ of Kei. A small, rational part of his mind repeats over and over that it’s not Kei’s fault, hell, it’s not even Tetsurou’s fault because you can’t control who you fall in love with; as Kenma is blindly forced to present his heart to Tetsurou, his best friend is bound by the same fate to Kei, and Kei to him. It’s not their fault, it’s not their fault.

But, still.

  
  


“Can you shut up?”

Tetsurou looks at him, eyes wide, mouth parted in shock.

_ Oh no. _

Kenma backpedals. “No, that’s not what I meant, Kuro, it’s just that—can we please talk about something else? All you ever do is talk about Kei now. And I get it! I’m happy for you! It’s just that—!”

He swallows, unsure of what to say. What does he say now? Let’s talk about video games or something,  _ anything _ but Kei?

“Can you… help me with math? I have... a test on Tuesday…”

Kuroo purses his lips, eyes shadowed. Kenma can’t see the lush gold of his irises, and he feels like he’s been locked away in a frigid cellar, as if he’s lost the sun’s light, as if he’s been trapped on the dark side of the moon, shivering from the cold as the stars twinkled bitterly and cruelly, millions and millions of light years away.

“Sure,” says Tetsurou, and it scares Kenma how he is unable to read his best friend.

They don’t talk of Kei again. Ever. And since that day, Tetsurou has never asked Kenma to hang out, never shown up at his door uninvited, smirk wide, towering over him, languidly leaning on the doorframe as Kenma cracks open the door, face impassive but really glowing inside, glowing like a star.

Kenma says he’s fine. He’s fine. If he can’t have Tetsurou, he can’t have the sun either because they go hand-in-hand, that’s fine, that’s fine. He doesn’t mind the dark.

Because like the moon, the sun deserves the whole dome of the sky, bright and blue and teeming with promise.

Because Tetsurou is happy, and that’s all that matters.

And Kenma?

Kenma does what he does best. He sits in his room, eyes glued to a glowing screen, nimble fingers hammering the control buttons or keyboard or anything, anything that distracts him from the gaping, pulsating wound in his chest. Raw and bloody, his lungs struggle to flutter.

The blue light emanating from the computer screen shrouds him, turning his skin gray, hair dull, eyes devoid of emotion: two saucers reflecting the monitor’s sheen. Unblinking, he hunches over, fingers aching and abraded whirring across the keyboard, the taunting clicks of the keys echoing in the complete silence of his room, his mind, as he drowns himself in anything he can find.

And he stays like that, only coming out for school and the occasional meal, if he’s not too nauseated from heartsickness and loneliness. Tetsurou talks to him less and less as Kei grows and blooms, encompassing most of Tetsurou’s mind like an overgrown weed, an invasive species in the native home of Kenma’s heart, his soul.

It’s fine, it’s fine.

He tells himself that every day. The only person he’s hurting here is himself, and that’s fine, that’s fine, it’s better to lose himself that Tetsurou, the only person he’s sure he’ll ever love, the only one that makes him feel whole and safe because although he spends all his days here in this tiny, dark room, this house is not his home; his home is with Tetsurou, in his strong arms, his crooked smirk, and those beautiful golden eyes.

  
  


It takes him a few months, but Kenma is adaptable. He’s hardy. He’s a survivor. As his characters brave the wilderness and danger in these video games, Kenma will survive in the real world. He just needs to apply video game concepts to the living, the breathing. 

It takes him a few months, but Kenma has always been strong. Mentally strong. Because he knew, he knew he had no chance, no hope, so he didn’t have to get over broken dreams as well. He prides himself for it. He repeats it to himself, a mantra, over and over, hushed and shaking, over his bed, his monitor, his school desk, the bathroom sink as he vomits his dinner again for the third time that week.

It takes him a few months, but Kenma will be able to get over Tetsurou. He knows it. He can feel it. He can feel his heart relinquishing its grasp on the boy, he can feel it, he  _ can _ feel it, he  _ knows _ he can. He hasn’t seen Tetsurou in over a week, hasn’t been outside his room for the past few days. And because he’s able to keep Tetsurou from his line of sight, it  _ proves _ Kenma doesn’t need him,  _ doesn’t _ need him anymore, he’s getting over him, it’s just the first step, the first shaking, wobbling step, but he’s finally getting over him.

He’s ecstatic.

  
  


“Kenma, why haven’t you been answering any of my texts?! Waaaaah, so mean!”

Shouyou dramatically falls into Kenma’s arms, the small setter stumbling. He can feel himself tottering and is afraid he’ll fall over before a pair of long arms swoop down and steady him. Kenma feels his heart lunch—is it Tetsurou, has he come to save Kenma and finally realized that he loves  _ him _ and not that blonde bastard—?

It’s just Haiba Lev.

Lev offers a wide grin, ridiculously large, eyes squinty and cheeks flushing and so full of joy and sunshine it makes Kenma nauseous. How can Lev look so happy when the whole world’s gone to shit, burned to the mere metal skeleton of great skyscrapers that used to stand, gray wings rising to greet the sun-kissed sky?

“Hinata!” Lev exclaims, “You’re just as short as you were last time!”

“Uwaaah, shut up, Lev! So mean!” Shouyou whines, relinquishing his grasp on Kenma to jump on the tall boy, catching him off guard and sending them both tumbling to the ground. 

“Aaah!” Lev exclaims, more in excitement than surprise, as he hits the dirt, Shouyou attempting to grapple with him. Even though he had died a long time ago, Kenma has to work hard to suppress a smile, hidden behind a hand.

He’s yanked from his two-second retreat by a cold, amused snort. Kei towers above the three of them, snotty and self-centered as he leers down at Lev and Shouyou, who stop their antics to squint up at him. Kenma bristles with hostility, thinly-veiled animosity radiating off him as he glares at the undeserving boy who ripped his life apart, tore his still-beating heart from his pulsating chest.

Kei’s eyes flick to his own for a second before a tiny crease appears between his eyebrows. He turns his head away and straightens up, looming away from them, a stormcloud in the midst of Kenma’s bright, clear horizon.

Kenma grits his teeth, infuriated.

  
  


Kei won’t leave him alone. He won’t leave  _ them _ alone.

He’s _always_ with Tetsurou. _Always._ It’s so incredible irritating and aggravating and Kenma wants to yell and seeth and tear him away from Tetsurou, _his_ _Tetsurou,_ that he’s known for his whole life, who he’s been in love with since the dawn of time, since the universe was born by creator or physics or whatever the hell it was, whose love for Kenma _must_ somehow be repressed because how could he not see him, not love him after being around him for so long, so long? It was _Kei’s_ fault for blinding Tetsurou, for binding his arms and legs as he pulled the rope towards him, as a spider drags in its struggling, writhing prey.

And Kenma  _ knows _ Tetsurou loves him. He  _ knows _ because Kenma doesn’t lie to himself. He doesn’t. 

_ He doesn’t. _

  
  
  
  


It’s been a while now. Kenma doesn’t really know how long in particular. He thinks that maybe he’s in his third year in Nekoma, perhaps around the spring, springtime where everything in the universe gave up and turned its head, refusing to budge as Tetsurou destroyed both of their lives.

The anger, its ferocious jaws of salivating red, had finally began to loosen its grip on his mangled, bloody scruff, Kenma whittled down to the bone, bleached white and dry with age, his skin nothing more than a sheet of thin, yellowed paper.

Sometimes it would be okay. Tetsurou is somewhere out there, somewhere in the world at a big, fancy college, playing on a ridiculously renown university volleyball team, so Kenma doesn’t really have to talk to him that much. And in his absence, Kenma realizes there’s nothing left, nothing left to feel. And he grasps that it… maybe it didn’t hurt so much anymore.

But.

Sometimes it would hit him. A sledgehammer to the chest, and all the wind would be knocked from his lungs, and he’d stagger and grope around his room, trying to find solidity while his whole world ripples and shatters under the weight of Tetsurou’s absence.

And the sadness, so huge and heavy and cumbersome, bearing its weight upon fragile Kenma exhausts him, makes him so tired he can do nothing to stop the shockwaves of tears and tremors from wracking through his body, the agony drowning him, anguish like nothing he’s even known before threatening to kill him, strangle him, tear through his heart like the sharp beaks of the cruel scavenger crows.

Grief. God, it’s so strong, it’s so strong that Kenma thinks he can even taste it, see it, smell it. Because it smells like him. Tastes like him. And it's there whenever Kenma looks in the mirror. 

But in the mourning, the melancholy, the sorrow, Kenma finds an odd sense of peace. Perhaps, with Tetsurou gone, Kenma can try and start over again. From ground zero, back up again. This time, he knows. He knows that he must never let his guard down, must never let anyone in because now he knows all they’ll do is tear him apart, picking his flesh piece by piece until there’s nothing left but loneliness and betrayal.

  
  


Kenma lifts his face, opening his eyes to the light struggling to fall in thin sheets past the narrow sliver in his drapes. He gets up, joints aching, feet scraping, body trembling, and, step by step, leap by leap, lifts his slender fingers to the curtains, and pulls them aside, linen fluttering as sunlight, white and pure, falls on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, it's finally done! i'm so relieved. i hope i was able to convey a sense of abruptness and dissatisfaction with the ending; i did not want a peaceful or happy resolve to this piece. writing is very hard, you guys! and thank you so much for reading my first every completed haikyuu!! work; your support means everything to me! <3
> 
> p.s. i have a tsukkiyama a/b/o fic in the works, and it should be up very soon! it will definitely be rated E, so just a fair warning. ;)


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